


Talking Feelings

by Acucena



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011 Anderson)
Genre: Character Study, Constance is there, Found Family, Gen, Milady gets mentioned, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acucena/pseuds/Acucena
Summary: They are not the types to talk about feelings.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Talking Feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likethenight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/gifts).



> This is a story for likethenight for yuletide2020.  
> The prompt was  
> "Not obligatory to include D'Artagnan if you don't feel like it, but happy to see him if you do! I'm particularly interested in the found-family dynamic between the Musketeers, especially as we see them by the time D'Artagnan shows up, when they've given it all up and are clearly looking for an excuse to get back into things - and if you felt like including how D'Artagnan's arrival affects the dynamic, that would be great. I'd be happy with something set during or after the movie - what adventures do they get up to next, that sort of thing. Happy with gen or shippy stuff, any pairings/combinations or all three Musketeers, but would rather not have D'Artagnan involved in the ships."  
> and I can only hope I fulfilled it to your satisfaction.  
> Have fun reading and happy holidays!

They are not the types to talk about feelings. They never were.

Milady was the one who brought some with her. The one who got Athos to say “I love you” in a thousand little ways: smiles and joke shared with them all. The way he’d reach out a hand to help her down a set of stairs, the way they endlessly attempted to one up each other only to end in kisses and shared smirks.  
The drinks they shared after successful missions, wine in metal chalices and toasts.  
  
“To France!” Milady would say and smile at them all, but especially at Athos.  
“To France!” They’d agree.  
  
Porthos would watch Aramis place a hand on Athos shoulder while he’d top up Miladys cup. “And to Friendship!”  
“One for all.” Athos would agree.  
“And all for one!” They’d complete.  
And Porthos himself would eventually come by and give Athos a clap on the back or a friendly shove to the side and fill up his by now empty cup.

They are not the types to talk about feelings.

After Milady there is silence. They drink more, do less jobs but what money they have goes to sustaining the house and to send Planchet out for alcohol.  
Porthos fills their cups with wine that first evening but stops suddenly and they all stare at the fourth chalice he filled out of habit.  
Athos is the first to move again, picking up the cup and throwing it with unrestrained force at the wall where the wine splashes into a red slash, running and dripping down the wood.  
The chalice connects with the floor in a hollow clattering noise one side dented inwards.  
Planchet, summoned by the noise, appears in the doorway just as Athos picks up his own cup, downs the content in one go and, grabbing an unopened bottle, pushes past him out of the room. He looks at the stain and sighs.  
For a moment the dripping of wine on wood is the loudest sound in the room.  
  
“Ah, damn,” Porthos says and pushes himself of the wall he’d leaned again. He takes one look at the mess before turning away and following after Athos out the door.  
Aramis watches his friends leave and sighs. “Do clean this up, Planchet.” Before getting up, taking his coat and leaving too, one hand sliping over the leather of the bible in his pocket.  
He spares Athos outside a look before turning down the street, his steps purposeful. If he’s not wrong that girl he met last week should have time this evening.

They are not the types to talk about feelings.

When they return home – later, much later, a little worse for wear after crashing with the airship, covered in sooth, their clothes ripped like kids coming in from playing for an evening dinner with Planchet sighing just as wearily as any mother would when he realizes he will have to mend them – they don’t talk about what happened.  
Aramis doesn’t ask if Athos is alright after seeing Milady jump to her own death in the watery depth. Athos knows that what he wished to say about the topic he had said right then and there and that had to be enough. He just claps a hand on Athos shoulder in passing and squeezes for a moment before taking a seat at the table, feet propped up on the wood and flipping open his bible.  
And Porthos doesn’t call Athos out on his words to D’Artagnan just before they started their harebrained scheme to rescue Constance and all of France. Instead he gives Athos a healthy clap on the back that would have unbalanced a different man, but barely moves his friend. “Wine!”, he demands and waves at Planchet to move. “Let’s drink.”  
Constance, who has been given leave by Queen Anne and followed them home on D’Artagnans behalf, smiles at him and helps filling cups and passing them around.  
  
“To France!” Porthos proclaims and the others raise their cups of wine in the air with him, agreeing: “To France!”  
Everyone takes a sip of wine, enjoying the moment of peace.  
  
“I just wanted to say thank you again.” Constance starts, taking D’Artagnans’ wrapped left hand in hers. “For going in the first place and for saving me, of course.”  
Athos, now also sitting at the table, waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. It was our duty and our pleasure.”  
“Hear, hear.” Porthos agrees.  
Artemis chimes in. “If anything we have to thank you. Adventures like these don’t come knocking every day.”  
“Gave us an opportunity to put these to good use again.” Porthos pats his rapier, sitting down and throwing his feet up on the table next to Aramis. “Other than hitting brash newcomers.” He gives D’Artagnan a grin.  
“Watch who you’re calling brash.” The called one warns. “Be glad that fight didn’t happen, I’d have won it.” He claims grinning and flinches only a little when Constance pokes him.  
“You might be good with a rapier, but you couldn’t have taken all three of them.”  
“I could’ve. I can prove it, if you want, any time.”  
Athos shakes his head but he can feel the smile on his face. “You’ll get your chance to prove yourself. Now that you’re a musketeer we’ll put you through your paces.” He lifts a hand to fend of D’Artagnans reply. “No more of that for today, you’ll curse us soon enough for all the training.”  
D’Artagnan looks offended at the mere idea. “I can take it.”  
“You can.” Aramis agrees. “Although it’s not going to be as heroic and exciting as the last few days. You might get bored,” he suggests with a smile.  
“Oh please, as if life with that pup could ever be boring. He’ll be of to another duel before the week is done.” Porthos claims and refills his cup.  
“A week seems too long. I say it won’t be more than three days.” Aramis contradicts. “Do you have your sight on anyone yet, D’Artagnan?”  
The younger man smirks. “Well, now that Rochefort is dead Richelieu will have to replace him as Captain of his guard won’t he? I’ll wait and see who that’s going to be before deciding.”  
“Oho!” cheers Porthos, “Setting your sights high, are you?”  
  
Athos leans back and watches them squabble taking another sip from his wine. He catches Aramis eye across the table and they share a font smile.  
  
Later D’Artagnan will leave with Constance. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in trouble.” She’ll promise and smile at the kid and it’ll look nothing like the smiles Milady used to give them but Athos will still feel a little sting at how much the two of them remind him of himself.  
Porthos will sling an arm over D’Artagnan’s shoulder and tell him: “You better take care of that woman, that’s one of a kind.” Before giving him a not so gentle push out of the door.  
Then he’ll close the door and turn to the two of them and ask: “What now?”  
Aramis will lift his cup and propose, in a more somber voice than their fun before: “A toast. To past and future friends.”  
And Athos will look at both of them, waiting for him, his best friends side by side and raise his cup: “To us.”

They are not the types to talk about feelings. They don’t need to be.


End file.
